Page 39 of Bittersweet Revenge

“Why are you haunted?”

He shook his head. “Because of what is, what was, what could have been, by maybes and empty promises. I don’t expect you to understand.”

He rested his hand on the ground, laboriously trying to help himself up.

I reached down to help him.

“No, don’t. I can do it.”

I sighed and looked at him struggling to stand. He grabbed the headstone, resting his hand on it for help.

“You know you didn’t have to go to such extreme measures,” he commented after steadying himself.

“Caleb, I didn’t try to kill myself.”

He looked at me with uncertainty. “But you’re unhappy.”

Was he joking? He had spent every waking moment since my return torturing me. “Why? Are you trying to make me happy?”

He shook his head, looking down at the headstone as he ran his hand back and forth on the smooth marble.

“You won,” he said barely louder than a whisper before taking a swig of his bottle.

“I don’t understand.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. He froze, looking back at me with some realization and fear.

“I’m letting you go.”

It was my turn to freeze as dread filled me. If he let me go, it would ruin my whole investigation, but I knew deep down there was more to it than that, and it terrified me even more. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to give up on me.

“Caleb, no. There is more at stake than what you think.”

He kept shaking his head, stubbornly gripping the stone even more. “No, I won't have someone's death on my conscience. I’ve already got enough on it. Just give me a few days. I’ll find a way. I’ll figure out a solution that will work for everybody. You’ll be free.”

He was delusional if he thought that would happen. Though what if it could? I wasn’t even sure what freedom meant anymore, but I couldn't leave, not while I had a murder to solve.

I looked around the cemetery at the dying flowers on the graves. “Do you know why the dead receive more flowers than the living?”

He finally looked at me again, obviously surprised by the change of subject. “No, tell me.”

“Because regrets are so much more powerful than anything else. More powerful than gratitude. Don’t let them swallow you whole and take you under. You’re so much more than this.”

I took the bottle from his hand. He didn't fight me. “Don’t do anything rash or irremediable while you’re under a misconception.” I extended my hand toward him. “Let me drive us home. Give me your keys.”

He got his keys out of his pocket, but kept them in his hand. “I said I’d never let you drive my car.”

“And if you don’t let me drive and you drive us in this state, you reallywillhave my death on your conscience.” He winced as I nudged my hand toward him. It was a cheap shot, but his lips were truly blue now. I couldn't have his death on my conscience either.

“Fine!” he snapped, slapping the keys into my hand. I forced him to take my arm after seeing his lack of coordination as he tried to walk. It was eerily like a toddler taking his first steps.

“If you tell anyone…” he started after I helped him to the car and took the driver’s seat. He tried to threaten me, but his voice was heavy, his speech slower, the alcohol finally taking him down.

I blasted the heating to the maximum to warm him up as I rolled my eyes. “What happens between us stays between us, Caleb. You’ve got to start trusting me.”

He snorted, resting his head against the window. “Been there, done that, got the tee-shirt. Wouldn't recommend it,” he mumbled.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?” I glanced his way, but he was slouched more heavily in his seat, his eyes still closed.

Was I cursed to take care of drunken men: Luke, then Archie, and now Caleb? That was really a pattern I didn't want to continue.

---